


Monster

by BeyondStarlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, but for safety reasons i also chose the rape warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondStarlight/pseuds/BeyondStarlight
Summary: Werewolf AU: Snape was bitten by Lupin. Many years later, Dumbledore still feels guilty.





	Monster

Severus is tied up. Hands. Feet. Face down. He is screaming, sometimes nearly growling. Nails digging into the wooden bedframe. His scratch marks aren’t quite human, aren’t quite animal.

Tense. The muscles of his back are rock hard. Scars weaving into one another. Albus wishes he could run his hands over them. Softly. Gently. It will only make things worse. Later, he reminds himself. Later he can be gentle. When the damage has been done.

For now, his fingers are tightly interlocked with Severus’ hair. Holding his head back. He wants to shush him. It will only make things worse. Later. Later. He thinks he ought to hate himself. For agreeing to this. For being aroused by this. It helps, of course. For now, the desire is good. Carnal as it may be. That heavy, hot feeling. That restlessness. That too tight too good feeling of sliding into him. Fucking him, roughly, until the young man can’t help but arch his back and his moans become long and drawn out. Until the energy is burnt up. Until the anger turns to lust, greed, need. Severus’ cock drips with precum. His hips jerk forward desperately. He moans, screams, curses, begs – then shudders violently through his release.

Every move he makes echoes through Albus. He trembles through his orgasm and Albus pulls him closer. Burning skin against burning skin. Until he himself can’t hold back anymore, and comes without making a sound.

There is plenty of time to feel disgusted with himself. Later.

-

Severus sinks into the mattress. The energy is drained out of him. The anger is, temporarily, replaced with numbness. No more lust for blood. No more trying to tear through his own skin. No more intrusive thoughts. Of sinking his teeth into someone’s throat. Of gurgling on their blood. Of fucking them as they bleed to death. He curls up. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do the things that flash before his eyes. He craves them. His hands itch for blood. But he wouldn’t. He repeats it to himself. He wouldn’t. He hates these thoughts. He hates himself. He wouldn’t.

Warmth. Severus shivers. He is cold. Albus’ body next to him. He clings onto it. His body feel so heavy, so limp, yet it moves, curls itself around Albus. His face is buried in the crook of Albus’ neck. The thought of sinking his teeth into his throat passes through his mind. It does not linger.

He does not remember waking up. He is not aware that he is not himself. His body is white hot with pain. His limbs are too long. His tongue hanging out of his mouth, in between his knife-like teeth. His nails tear through everything they meet. The taste of blood hangs heavily in the air. He follows it, instinctively. Where the treetops part, the moonlight burns on his skin.

-

“Hold still.”

Minerva halts. Her raised fist pauses in the air, moments away from knocking Severus’ door. Even from behind the door, Albus sounds unlike himself. Exhausted. Angry. The vial of wolfsbane weighs heavy in Minerva’s hand. Like lead. It’s stench immediately catches up with her. Sharp. Warm. Nauseating.

She listens. She knows she shouldn’t, but then again Albus could just keep her informed of matters, rather than leaving her in the dark. Severus hisses. There is a rustle of clothing. A thud. A glass hits the floor but doesn’t shatter. A long pause.

“I said,” Albus says slowly, “Hold. Still.”

“Let go! Let go or I’ll rip your fucking throat out! You think I won’t? You think I- You think I- You smug bastard! I hate you!”

Ah. Severus is drunk.

“I’ll kill you!”

Again.

“Let go you fucking- ah- you monster- no- nnh-”

Minerva instinctively almost takes a step forward. Then forces herself to take a step back. Moans. Muted behind the door. Moans of pain or pleasure – it’s hard to tell. She wonders sometimes whether Severus can tell the two apart. She looks away, into the empty corridor, and then delicately puts the vial on the floor. She pretends, perhaps more for her own sake than for anyone else’s, that she doesn’t hear anything. That she doesn’t hear the breaths sucked in through Severus’ teeth, the shaky gasps for air, the slap of skin on skin. Albus ought to know better. He ought to be ashamed.

“Ah- Albus, please- please-”

Perhaps she is the one who ought to be ashamed, for turning her back and letting this happen.

-

Albus has barely stepped out of the bathroom when he searches for Severus’ silhouette in the bed. Nowadays, he half expects Severus to flee at every chance he gets. Sometimes, he can’t blame him. He runs his hand through his damp hair and straightens his robes. It is four in the morning. In three hours, he meets with the Order. For a few long moments he just stands there, half-asleep, watching Severus.

Severus – who is finally still. He rarely is. If he is not asleep, he paces. Fights. Works. Drinks. He is caught up in the thrum of the beast within him. Seeing him like this – his frail figure, sallow skin marred with scars that look pale white against his dark skin – it doesn’t surprise Albus. He seems too feeble to contain such a monster within himself. Even in his sleep, though he is still, he isn’t peaceful. Sweat pearls together on his forehead, and his breaths are quick and shallow.

Albus watches him and catches his every movement. Out of habit, perhaps. The rise and fall of his chest. How his eyes move back and forth beneath his eyelids. The delicate movement of his throat when he swallows.

Dark streaks of blood taint the sheets. He sits down beside him with a towel, a bowl of water, and an array of potions. Slowly, he cleans the dried blood from between Severus’ fingers and from underneath his nails, and then he carefully coats his wounds with salve. Years ago, Severus used to flinch awake at this. Snarling through his tears. Now he doesn’t even stir. Albus can feel the flesh and skin mending itself. It’s an unpleasant sensation. Beneath his fingertips, Severus’ body is ripping itself apart and re-attaching itself, but he has been broken and mended too many times to feel it still.

A deep gash runs down Severus’ shoulder, ending on his chest. The wound is trying to heal itself around the silver barb embedded into his flesh. Every now and then Severus will come home with one of these. Albus holds the protruding silver firmly between his thumb and index finger. Then sharply yanks it out.

He is too exhausted to react. He lets it happen. He has no energy left to fight it anymore. Almost as though it happens in slow motion, Severus jerk awake. Eyes wide and feral. Albus feels the floor beneath him before he realises they are falling. Severus is on him. His whole body is tense and shaking. His teeth, blunt and human, press into Albus’ throat.

One day Severus will not pull back. One day he will, perhaps instinctively, perhaps not, surrender to the urge to bite down. That desperate need for blood. For revenge. For release.

But today Severus slinks back. He collapses on the floor and lets out a broken cry.

“I hate you”, he mouths between gasps. His hands running blindly over the wound in his shoulders. Blood running over his clean hands once more. “I hate you.”

-

Severus starts awake. Hazy visions fill his head. Memories or nightmares. He remembers the forest and the moon – if he does not spend the night with them, they come to him in his dreams. His limbs feel heavy.

Albus. He looks around. Where is Albus? He stumbles out of the bed. His head is light. He sinks to his knees. Crawls out of the bedroom. His body aches. Where is Albus? He gets back on his feet. Wanders from room to room, barely registering anything. His foot catches behind some sheets and he trips. A loud bang. Darkness.

Cold. Why is he on the floor? Where is Albus? He gets back on his feet. His head throbs. It’s too hot. Suffocating. He pulls at the bandages on his chest and shoulder. Too hot. Breathe. Where is Albus? He wipes the sweat from his forehead. His hands grasp at the door handle of his quarters, but it won’t open. He scratches at the door. Blunt nails. There is blood on his hands. He steps back, nearly falls again. Blood on his chest. Thick, dark droplets dripping down from his shoulder. His head throbs. Where is Albus? He screams. A primal sound. Kicks the door. His toe hurts. Kicks it again. Screams again. He can’t tell when the hoarse sound coming out of his mouth turned into a sob. His head is spinning. Where is Albus?

The door opens and closes rapidly. Not Albus. Minerva. A deep growl rises from Severus’ chest. She eyes him tiredly.

-

She ought to have reprimanded Albus. Ought to have had words with him. How dare he. When Severus is at his weakest. Use him. Harm him. How dare he. She wipes the sweat off of Severus’ forehead. His eyelids flutter. The effects of the moon are fading, slowly. The wounds are still unhealed. Severus is feverish. She carefully runs her fingertip alongside the swollen flesh around the wound.

Her eyes drift lower. Fingertip-shaped bruises are littered across Severus’ hips. She has to put a halt to this. Yet there is only one word, one name, on Severus’ pale lips. He keeps asking for him. Keeps glancing around the room furtively, as though he is afraid to fall asleep without him.

When Albus finally does enter the room, it is as though Severus can breathe again. His muscles, hard as stone, suddenly relax, and he seems to melt into the mattress. His eyes light up, and when Albus’ hand rests on his forehead they slowly close. She knows how they snap back open, red-rimmed and unseeing, the moment Albus leaves the room. She knows she will say nothing. And she knows that every full moon when Severus loses himself Albus will be there to bring him back. And she doesn’t know whom she should feel more sorry for.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and would like more content, do leave a comment. Your words fuel me.


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